


Actions speak louder than the words you won’t say

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, fluff of the platonic variety? -ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-25 20:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: She hadn't expected him to be so comforting, in his own quiet way. He never thought he’d meet another human worth comforting. [Mikleo, Alisha.]





	Actions speak louder than the words you won’t say

“Alisha?”

Mikleo watched the princess tense up in surprise at his low voice. She turned around as he approached, her voice equally quiet. “Mikleo? Is everything alright?”

The inn’s hallway was empty except for the two of them, which wasn’t surprising before dawn. Only the wall-mounted lanterns provided any light, but they had been trimmed by the innkeep hours ago and only just succeeded in providing any visibility in the deep shadows. Alisha sat on a bench across from the room the party had rented for the night. It wasn’t until Mikleo stood almost directly beside her that he realized she lacked her armor and her hair had been let down, but she was otherwise dressed in her usual attire.

“I just went for a walk,” he replied. “Getting an early start?”

“Mm… something like that.” Her smile was either too distracted or too tired to be genuine, he thought, but it was quickly replaced with a glimpse of curiosity. “If I may ask,” she wondered, “do seraphim need sleep as humans do?”

“It isn’t necessary, no. But by definition the process is the same for both of us.”

Alisha hummed thoughtfully. “And you all rest inside Sorey, correct? I noticed you were gone before, but I thought maybe that’s where you were.”

“I rest when I need to, but I don’t sleep inside him,” Mikleo countered dryly, letting his distaste for the idea show as he shifted his weight. “It’s... weird.”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” she stammered. “I didn’t realize.”

He wondered briefly whether it was worth explaining that the feeling wasn’t necessarily mutual among the other seraphim, and that he simply felt that way because there were just some lines of personal space that he didn’t care to cross with Sorey no matter how long they’d been friends, but he quickly decided against it. She was better than before, but it seemed Alisha was still a little stiff with him when it came to formalities; that was probably something she would just have to continue to work through as they journeyed together.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said dismissively. “It’s probably a strange enough concept for a human to grasp as it is.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “A little,” she admitted. “Although Sorey seems to have adjusted rather quickly.” Even in the low light, Mikleo noticed the way her features shifted a little at the name in spite of her cheerful tone.

So that’s what this was about.

It didn’t seem like she was planning to go anywhere just yet, and the bench was long enough for two people without feeling crowded. Mikleo took a seat on her right, about an arm’s length away. “Well, he’s adaptive, if nothing else. He puts on a casual face, but he was a little shaken up by it at first.”

“Really? He’s always seems so… calm, and confident. I hadn’t noticed at all.” Alisha tilted her head as she watched him. “Although, I suppose it would be your place to notice something like that,” she added with another smile.

He half-shrugged lightly. “He’s an easy read once you get to know him.”

“And you’ve known each other all your lives, yes?” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “To be honest, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have siblings. When I see the way you two interact, well… honestly, it’s not quite what I pictured,” she admitted with a chuckle. “But I can tell you two are close. You’re family, aren’t you?”

Crossing his arms, Mikleo glanced absently down the hallway. She certainly wasn’t _wrong_ —he and Sorey were the closest of friends, yes. Brothers in every sense but blood, not that the lack of it mattered, but “best friend” had always sounded more impressive and carried more weight to the two of them as kids, so “brother” was a scarcely used term between them. Not that they really called each other anything these days— _family_ sometimes, but that went without saying.

All the same, Mikleo really wasn’t… _good_ at addressing emotions, at least the more positive ones. Unlike Sorey, he spoke more with actions than words when it came to that kind of thing, and talking openly about it felt like a jab to his pride somehow, not to mention awkward.

“...It is what it is,” he said finally, aiming for indifference.

Alisha laughed again, and in the corner of his eye he caught her warm smile. “I suppose so,” she murmured. Oh, sure, _now_ she found his discomfort funny. She reached up to pull her hair forward over her shoulder, the movement slow and stiff. Mikleo realized it was the first motion he’d seen her make so far, which made him wonder—

“How are your wounds?”

Alisha froze, glancing at him only briefly. It seemed he’d touched on something without meaning to. “They’re fine,” she said. “Lailah did a wonderful job healing them.”

“But even seraphic artes aren’t a cure-all. It’s normal to still feel sore, especially after an injury that deep.”

“Y-Yes, well…” She exhaled quietly, and then began to gather her hair up into its usual ponytail. “It does ache a little, but it’s nothing I can’t—” She hummed sharply and went still, her left arm twitching before she quickly dropped it.

_‘A little,’ huh._

She avoided looking at him. “I’ll be alright,” she murmured. “I’m more concerned for Sorey.”

Mikleo barely withheld a disgruntled noise, and only because he figured she would take it the wrong way. Alisha and Sorey were almost ridiculously alike in more ways than one.

“Did you know?” Alisha asked suddenly. “About his sight?”

He didn't answer immediately. “...He actually did a decent job of hiding it from the rest of you,” he said at length. “He never told me, but I suspected as much.” Mikleo didn’t hide his irritation. Part of it was concern, most of it was his feeling slighted by Sorey’s lack of trust in him ( _again_ ). Mikleo understood his reasoning, as idiotic and flawed as it was, but that didn't mean he excused it. Especially when it was just further proof that Sorey continued to take on more by himself than he needed to. For someone so smart and knowledge-hungry, he was taking a stupidly long time to learn such a simple lesson.

_It’s not like you and I need to hold back on what we say._

He had looked Mikleo straight in the eye and said that so casually, too.

Mikleo’s fists clenched on his knees, although his face remained impassive as he stared at the closed door to their room. After another moment, he added, “It’s not really my business, but I don’t think you should feel guilty about anything.” Glancing at her, he found her gaze and held it. “Sorey’s choosing to learn some things the hard way. What happened today…” He frowned. “This might sound cold, but I think what happened today was necessary, in a way. It’s a wake-up call that he needs before anything worse happens.”

Alisha stared at him for a few beats, and then looked down at her lap again. “No… I understand your way of thinking. In a worse situation, hiding his blindness could have...” After a moment she shook her head. “It’s not cold. You’re actually worried about him, aren’t you?”

Dammit, again with the open feelings. “He tends to overdo it,” he said gruffly. Then, sounding resigned, “But then, so do you.”

Alisha blinked, and then covered a small smile with her hand. “So you worry about me, too?”

Mikleo’s faux-annoyed expression faltered. “It’s—not that—” he stammered, looking sharply away again. “You two are just so headstrong and reckless about everything, I never know what mess you’re going to land in next,” he blurted quickly. That wasn’t denying what she’d asked, but even his pride wasn’t worth lying and saying he _didn’t_ consider her wellbeing.

Alisha sounded anything but convinced. “I see. Still…” That smile was playful now and didn’t go anywhere. “That’s rather sincere, coming from you.”

He hoped the dark hid the heat in his face. “Don’t get used to it,” he snapped, but even that was half-hearted compared to the attitude he would have given Sorey, or anyone else for that matter.

“Duly noted.” Silence fell for about a minute following her reply. It was still heavy with the weight of the deep night, but it didn’t feel as tense as before. When Alisha spoke again, her good humor had faded. “You trust Sorey, don’t you?”

That question was too simple to be as obvious as it sounded, and likewise Mikleo thought on his answer before giving it. “Mostly. I just don’t trust him to always do what’s best for himself.”

“Mm…” Alisha’s hum was a sad, contemplative one.

“But I suppose that’s why the rest of us are here,” he mused. “Not only as Sorey’s friends, but as part of the journey that the Shepherd’s role revolves around. It’s a heavy title to carry, but now I think that’s what his Prime and Sub Lords are for. Not simply power, but camaraderie and guidance, as well.”

“The Shepherd needs the seraphim to grow,” said Alisha thoughtfully. “Physically through their power, and emotionally through their companionship…”

“Not just the seraphim.” Mikleo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “His squire as well, and all who support him. Whether we’re by his side or not… Sorey’s the type of person to take strength in just knowing there are people he can trust and count on. The battlefield isn’t the only place where he depends on others.”

When Alisha remained silent, he a stole a glimpse at her and found her expression intently focused. After a few seconds more, she blinked out of her thoughts, appearing pensive, and then returned his look. Again she smiled, but softly—warmly, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Thank you, Mikleo. I’ve been feeling uncertain, but… I think I know what to do now.”

“About what?” he wondered.

She shook her head. “I’ll explain later. But please know that I appreciate this talk; it’s… helped put me at ease, you could say.”

He arched an eyebrow, but didn’t press. “Sure.”

Whatever she’d gleaned from his words, Alisha seemed to be in a better mood now. Again she raised her hands, but again she winced, her breath catching with a sharp hum. She kept at it, though, slowly gathering her hair between her fingers.

Mikleo couldn’t watch any longer. “Do you want some help?” It was a casual enough question, he’d thought. Having helped with Sorey’s messy hair for years, and being used to the women in their family helping trim his own (since he would never, _ever_ allow Sorey to touch a hair on his head again), that kind of contact struck him as one of the most casual.

Alisha’s reaction suggested otherwise, since she only stared at him for several seconds—long enough to make him feel awkward and wonder if he should have put more thought into whether that was a proper thing to say. “Or… if that’s not… appropriate,” he said haltingly, again struggling not to look as frazzled as he felt, “then—”

She broke out of her daze. “N-No—I didn’t meant to imply—I’m sorry, I was just—surprised,” she insisted, looking sheepish. “I’ve just… I haven’t had anyone fix my hair other than my maid, ever since… in a long time,” she corrected.

“Oh. My mistake—”

“No, it’s… it’s alright. I appreciate the offer—and I’ll accept it, if you truly don’t mind.”

Even something as simple as that was a matter of formality, coming from her. Mikleo was caught between amusement and curiosity—was she just this formal with all her friends? But she said no one had done this for her in a long time. Was she not that comfortable with her other friends? Or did she not...

He broke off from that train of thought, narrowly avoiding a frown as he turned on the bench to face her. “I don’t.”

Alisha also turned, putting her back to him and pulling her legs up in front of her. As confident as Mikleo had been in making the offer, now he felt a little unsure as he began to collect her hair between his hands. It turned out it was very different from dealing with short hair: this required handling, not just touch, as he had to repeatedly run it through his fingers as he gathered any stray locks—which was harder than it looked, especially in the low light.

By the third time his fingertips brushed her neck, he gave up on muttering an awkward _Sorry_. Once he had her ponytail loosely in his grip, he began moving it over her right shoulder, an effort that required combing through it with his fingers to keep it straight. He realized he needed to stand up and did so, moving to her side.

“Tell me if I make it too tight,” he remarked.

“You’re fine.”

At this angle he continued to accidentally touch her neck, as well as her cheek now, but Alisha didn’t flinch. Considering even Sorey reflexively withdrew from his touch on occasion (and always tried to hide it, and always failed), Mikleo found her tolerance impressive. Then again, raised as a princess, perhaps she was just used to being dressed and tended to by others, and even a seraph wasn’t all that intrusive.

Getting her hair to look as neat as it normally did was trickier than he’d anticipated. There was just _so much of it_ , and it was so soft and smooth that he had an easier time handling water without artes. He would pull it up, frown when he noticed an imperfection (or several), and then brush through it again and redo it.

Alisha’s next remark broke his concentration. “If it’s too much trouble—” she began, turning her head slightly. That small movement pulled several strands free of his hold, making him grimace. Without thinking the action through in the slightest, Mikleo took her chin in his fingers and turned her head back to the way it had been, gently but firmly.

“Look straight—” He froze, still in place, leaning over her with her hair in one hand and her face in the other. The only reason he didn’t jump back was his reluctance to drop her hair after coming this far, but his hand withdrew from her face as if burned and he took a half-step back without waiting for her reaction.

“Sorry! I didn’t—! It was—habit,” he stammered, forgetting to keep his voice down. He knew his face was bright red and he hated it. “That was—really rude of me, I apologize—”

Alisha laughed into her hand. Her cheeks were pink, but it didn’t look like embarrassment as much as glowing amusement. “It’s alright, Mikleo, really. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’m sorry.”

He was glad she didn’t look straight at him, but his embarrassment was already obvious enough without seeing his face. He exhaled sharply at himself and resumed his task, but now the silence bordered on uncomfortable—for him, at least.

After a moment, he explained distractedly, “I’m just—I’m used to Sorey getting antsy when I cut his hair. I usually end up holding him still at some point.” Or kneeing him in the side, which worked just as well.

She chuckled, but was careful not to move much. “That’s easy to imagine,” she mused.

“You’re a nice change of pace, honestly.”

“That’s… also easy to imagine.” Her smile made him forget his previous embarrassment, just for a moment. Then, suddenly she asked, “Do you know how to braid?”

“Braid?”

“Yes. It might be easier to manage.”

As much as Mikleo didn’t want to admit that he was having trouble, that was probably obvious by now. “Not… hair, no—that is, I haven’t tried, but I know how to—” He watched as she reached back to casually take hold of his hand and guide it a little higher. She was much warmer to the touch than he’d thought.

“If you start around here, you should be able to make it rather tight. It won’t slip around as much.”

“Right—I’ll—sure.” He had to wonder how he’d ultimately ended up in this situation, but truthfully, he didn’t mind. Alisha was the one person in their group with whom he hadn’t spent much time alone, anyway—and perhaps a one-on-one interaction like this was helping her to relax out of that formality a little.

It turned out she was right: braiding was much simpler, particularly since he could just work straight down. Hair wasn’t so different from thread in that regard. It was also much faster, and as he made the last couple twists Alisha passed her ribbon over her shoulder for him to secure it in place.

“Looks good to me,” he announced as he finally withdrew from her immediate space. Alisha turned back to him with another warm expression, and he was suddenly pleased that he’d been able to put it on her face after the rough day she’d had.

“Thank you. If I can ever repay you with a menial task in return, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“It’s fine. That’s what friends—” Mikleo caught himself, his own smile quickly fading in surprise as much as embarrassment, and instead cleared his throat and revised his statement: “—You… don’t owe me anything.”

He pretended not to notice her bright smile or that knowing look on her face. Once again, his stubbornness was nothing personal—he certainly considered her to be closer than an ally in battle at this point, but admitting as much out loud was… unnecessary.

Wasn’t it?

Alisha chuckled again and while part of him was annoyed that it was at his expense, he forgave her just as quickly. “All the same,” she said amicably, “I’m grateful.”

Mikleo looked away and let the subject drop there.

Again silence fell between them, but it was a casual quiet now, akin to the kind he and Sorey often shared. The sun had begun to creep up the stairs at the end of the hall; the floorboards were striped with soft pink. How long had they been sitting here?

“Well,” Alisha spoke up after a couple minutes, “I think I’ll check on the town before everyone wakes. I’ll ask for breakfast to be prepared when I return.” Mikleo considered offering to go with her, but her smile was gone and she didn’t look at him as she stood up. She didn’t look as grim as earlier, but there was something distracted in her gaze and her tone was decided. He recognized when someone wanted time alone.

“Right. See you then.”

She did smile then, but briefly, and soon strode past him. He was reaching for the bedroom door when she spoke again.

“Mikleo?”

He turned back and found her looking pensive. “You said that you don’t trust Sorey to act in his own best interest. I don’t know him as well as you do, so I can’t say anything either way. But… I understand your concern.” She hesitated a moment, and then that warmth returned to her face and her voice. “And I can say with certainty that I do trust _you_ to do what’s best for him. So… I’m thankful, knowing that. And I wish you luck in that endeavor.”

That had an odd tone of finality to it, Mikleo thought, but Alisha looked so certain, so cheerful, so genuinely appreciative that he didn’t question it, even though he would end up dwelling on those words soon after and come to suspect her intentions. For now he covered his confusion with a benign shade of sarcasm as he replied, “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Her smile quirked, but he noticed her eyes turned away before the rest of her did in the second before she disappeared around the corner. Maybe he’d imagined it—or, more likely, he was just thinking too much. But then, he probably thought too much to balance out the way Sorey never thought _enough_ , which wasn’t a bad thing.

In that regard, Mikleo figured Alisha was more akin to himself than to Sorey. She was certainly racking her brain over something; he only hoped she didn’t have a flair for dramatic choices like the stubborn Shepherd.


End file.
